Bruno Grazianos FNM Report January 17, 2011 at 10:38am An FNM Report by Bruno Graziano Let me start off by introducing myself. You can often find me on the shores of Caribbean beaches, eternally shielded from the flashbulbs of the paparazzi by waves of supermodels that form a fellatio fortress around me. Now let me tell you about my draft. Pick one pack one. I swiftly shuffle through the pack to find a dilemma in the rear end of it (a position Im more comfortable inducing than receiving). Skinrender. Oxidda Scrapmelter. Trigon of Corruption. Koth of the Hammer. To make matters worse, I flick the token onto the table in front of me only to find a foil Contagion Engine has usurped the basic land slot. This pack was built for a god, and so I had opened it. Am I playing for money, or to win? I tank, lost in thought. Meditating provides an intimate encounter with myself that I am only comfortable talking about under the identity anonymous. After nearly a minute of deep thinking, I arrive at a clear conclusion. With lack of any remorse, my hand snatches a card out of the pack. The wind rushes through my fingers as my arm mercilessly swings over my head and slams my first pick down with so much confidence, it triggers a small amount of seismic activity. Everyone in the pod glares at me as a sinister grin grows on my face. I look around. Resting on the table in front of me, fully exposed, lay the foundation of my deck: Copper Myr. The rest of the draft continues with me picking up everything I could ask for in this archetype. One Carapace Forger. One Auriok Replica. One Accorders Shield. To call it autopilot would be not giving enough credit to the stupidity of my pod-mates, as they pass first pick after first pick to yours truly (myself). My deck built itself, with few problems. One of them being my extreme density of playables. Looking down at my 42 picks, I had a hard time cutting any. With 2 minutes left of deckbuilding, I cut the only card I could, the third Whitesuns Passage, then added lands and sleeved up. Rounds one and two were over so quickly that I was gone from the tables before my opponents tears could dampen the shame-ridden rags they were dressed in. I sat down for round three and sized up the weak excuse for a human being sitting across from me. “If losing is your other hobby, tonight is your night.” A warm introduction to break the ice. “Ill play,” he delicately says, winning the die roll. “And keep.” I lay seven cards out on the table as we make eye contact. Keeping the cards face down, I scoop them up and shuffle them back into my library. “Mull,” I say. “In the blind.” Six fresh cards later and Im ready to play. The game progresses as youd expect, with myself winning, when we arrive at a complex board state. I am at 4 life and hes at 20. Both of us have no cards in hand. In play he has three mana myr, a Vulshok Replica, and a Tempered Steel. I have six Swamps. He passes. I peel the one-outer and chuckle at my opponents unfortunate fate. Tapping my lands, I lay down the one card in the format that would instill fear into the furthest depths of his degenerate heart: Plague Stinger. “GG,” I quietly say, reclining in my throne. “Good game,” he says. “Kill you.” He turns his creatures sideways as I look at the board in shock. “Judge!” I yell immediately. No one responds. “Steve!” A man in a judge uniform perks up and starts briskly walking over. I look at my opponent. “Yeah, I know people.” His nerves are revealing the true fragility of his mental state. The judge arrives. “Whats going on?” he says. “And stop calling me Steve. I told you three times my name is Kevin.” Whatever. “My opponent drew extra cards.” I smirk and sit back to watch the ensuing chaos. “This is the third round out of three that youve made this claim, and you were wrong the previous two,” the judge says. “I understand your family might have grown up in a decrepit neighborhood and Im proud of you for overcoming the pitifully disgusting schooling your single derelict mother must have forced on you, but let me show you how to count.” I pick up our libraries and count the cards, showing a distinct difference in the numbers. “You registered seventy six cards. Yes, you do have more. This is also not the first time youve verbally abused me. Im going to report you to the DCI. I expect a ban of six months is appropriate for your behavior. Im also going to ask you to leave this store right now.” Steve had made his point, wrong as it was. The store is silent as I gather my cards, wreaking of self-assurance and victory. All eyes on me. Standing up to leave, I address my opponent with a smug grin and cut the dead air with my confident advice. “Sometimes you have to play a little dirty with everything on the line.” Chest out and chin up, I walk towards the door. The only sound other than my footsteps is the piercing screech of my infallibility. Just before my exit, my opponent musters a few last words: “This is the 0-2 bracket.” Until next time, B. Graziano
Posted on: Mon, 20 Oct 2014 05:16:59 +0000
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